Photograph
by taiis fernandes
Summary: The photograph that lies on top of the old desk on the hallway is one of the best secrets kept at Xavier's Mansion.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own X-Men or any Marvel-related superhero. If I had any power over it, let's say things would get out of the _subtext_ zone right into _happily-ever-after-with-mutant-babies_ zone

**Author's note:** This is a drabble-ish fanfic that started to build itself on my mind as soon as I left the cinema (but it only came out weeks ago, since I'm a total lazy bastard who just likes doing fanart). Time is a relative concept so it doensn't apply very well to this fanfic - I kinda imagine the story happening +/- 10 years after The Divorce, so the new kids would already be there but would be old enough to begin understanting the tough situation between their leader and Magneto.  
Sorry if there's any typos - english isn't my mother language and I don't have any beta reader :/

Enjoy

* * *

_Every memory of walking out the front door_  
_I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for_  
_It's hard to say it, time to say it_  
_Goodbye, goodbye_

The photograph that lies on top of the old desk on the main hallway is one of the best secrets kept at Xavier's Mansion.

There's no student that had never seen it; in fact, Jean came to the conclusion, the Professor had, rather unconsciously, placed it on a way that the photo was immediately seen once you got into the house. To an ordinary guest, that picture was just one amongst thousand similar others that covered almost every plain surface available at the Mansion: from students to mutant activists, the house staff and old friends from all over the world; pictures plastered together over the walls on a not-very-distinguishable fashion matching with mixed pro-mutant articles and graduation diplomas. It seemed important to the Professor that everyone remembered the good times they've had together; it was his own way of showing them that the Mansion would always be their home.

Yet that special photograph, already rumpled around the edges and beginning to fade as the days go by, doesn't suit these purposes, since the little ones don't even recognize the energetic - and _standing_- young Charles on it.

But when it comes to the older ones…

Ororo thinks this is sheer stupidity. Illogical. The past is in the past and that's how it should work. Daydreaming about times that won't come back isn't healthy, _it takes people away from what really matters in life_, she thinks, bitterly, every time she wanders through that corridor. But someone who controls the weather can't see things as a telepath does, can't sense the things _Jean_senses. Ororo had never felt the bittersweet melancholy - or the happiness - that lurks behind Hank's eyes every time he glances over the young lady on Charles' left side, those smiles forever frozen on the fading picture.

Ororo isn't also capable of sensing the same wave of feelings - _longingsadnesslovebetrayal_- that comes from the Professor every single time his blue eyes hover over the picture.

Scott, on the other hand, thinks it's some kind of metaphor. The image makes them remember they're all brothers, he says, even though they fight on opposite sides of the battlefield. Jean thinks this explanation is quite beautiful. However, not everything done by the Professor has to have a secret meaning, as Scott likes to think. Putting aside his leader façade and his incorruptly morals that made him a role model for all his students, Charles Xavier remains as human (or mutant) as any other one living on that house.

Jean has her own theory on that photo. There are no secret purposes or vain wishes to go back in time. ("_It's dangerous, little one, to entertain such thoughts" _ The Professor once told her "_Erik's made his choice. Over and over again he chose to keep running away instead of coming home. I could try, but I guess I'd never be enough". _She knows that, if he could go back, the Professor would try either way. She already asked. Twice.). The photograph is an invitation, a sign of an undying hope. "Come back home" it says "It's not too late. It'll **never**be". It is a gesture of affection and acceptation towards the long-lost friends from the framed image that may never see it, but it's still there. Just in case. For the sole reason that the Professor has always been - and will always be, above all else - a dreamer.

That's why Jean doesn't even flinch when she finds him clutching the photo, sitting alone in the study while almost everybody had gone out with Ororo to buy some supplies. Their last encounter with Magneto and the Brotherhood had just been days ago and the wounds were still bleeding as she could tell by the darkness on the Professor's blue gaze. He is scarred, the Professor, deeply so. Wolwerine once told her that scars are the evidence of a healing process and that the scar itself represents storage of knowledge and, while it may fade, it won't ever disappear altogether, becoming a reminder and a memory at the same.

Jean wishes that the Professor's scars, those literal and physical ones, would heal faster. She wishes it all disappeared altogether from his mind and body. For her, ghosts of possibilities and _could-have-beens _would never be worth all the mourning she witnessed the Professor go through.

He doens't even look up when she approaches his chair. "Raven, she... She was like a little sister to me. My baby sister since both of us could remember." the telepath's voice is soft, just above a whisper, and Jean can feel the smoothness of red strains of hair as the Professor runs his fingers through the picture.

Words had never been necessary between telepaths nor Jean trusted her voice to say something. However, she feels the need to ask, slowly approaching the other in order to peek at his shoulder and steal a glance of the photo.

" And he - Erik" the feeling between her fingers change and so does the movement of the Professor's hand, his long fingers driving towards the masculine figure on the right corner of the image. She can feel the thick fabric of a turtleneck, one of those that seemed to be in vogue at the 60's, can even envision the maroon color somewhat gleaming in the fire light "He" the Professor tries to speak again but is stopped by the light weight that is Jean's hand on his tense shoulder. She knows that what he was going through is too intense to be put into words.

"I understand" it's the only thing she manages to say and, as Charles senses it's the truth, he lifts his gaze from the chess table - that one that has been frozen on the same game since she came into the house, black king almost in check, white bishop hovering, watching, waiting, forever frozen on its unsure movement-, meeting his student's eyes for the first time on that morning. They both have tears on their eyes but manage a smile, sharing a million things through the mental bond connecting them.

"C'mon" when the Professor speaks again his voice is his habitual tone, whereas the easy smile is slowly fading away as he places the black king to it's position and guides her to the entrance hall. "The others are coming. Let's wait for them outside, shall we?"

Almost as an afterthought he returns the photograph to the same place it was before. Because, as Jean Grey had guessed correctly, Charles Xavier had always been and will always be a dreamer.

Also, beyond and more important than that, because Raven Darkholme and Erik Lehnsherr will always be welcomed home.


End file.
